


Broken

by triforcelegends8



Series: Intoxicated [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Do not read unless you can handle John being a sick psycho, M/M, Psychotic John, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triforcelegends8/pseuds/triforcelegends8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's thoughts on him raping Sherlock Holmes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

“…You broke me, John. Congratulations. You did a wonderful job. You should be proud of yourself.” Sherlock said with as much venom as he could muster. He got up from his chair and stalked off to his bedroom. John smiled when he heard the door slam shut. Sherlock was trying to let John know he was angry and it worked, but John didn’t care.

All hew cared about was that he had ‘broken’ Sherlock. He figured the man was in his room now, thinking about why John had raped him and how he was going to deal with the situation. John’s smile stretched to an unimaginable length. The detective, he knew, had never experienced anything like this. There was no denying that. He didn’t have to be the world’s only consulting detective to figure that one out. And he definitely hadn’t experienced anything like this from someone he had trusted.

But he wouldn’t be able to figure it out. For almost the entire time they had known each other, John had hidden the more violent side of his nature from his flatmate.

Years ago, John had questioned his sanity for wanting for force something like sex on a person. The first time, and John thought the last, had been with a girl he had been sweet on for a few months. He hadn’t been able to stand her, but something had been keeping him there for all those months. One night, they had been kissing and touching each other, just making out, when John took the initiative to go a bit further. He had been pissed off with her for quite some time, for her just being who she was. She had been so kind and caring of others. She had never been able to hurt anyone or do anything aggressive.

Boring.

John had hated her and, at first, he didn’t know why. But when he finally realized that what he craved was danger, anger, and aggressiveness, he took advantage of what he was given. And that included the girl he had taken. She told him to stop, but John was already too fueled with all of the things he hated about the girl to stop. He had practically ripped off her pants and panties, making her cry and sob. He roughly clasped a hand over her mouth and threatened to choke her, making her sob even more. Eventually, he had been able to penetrate her and it was glorious. For a girl he hated so much, he never imagined he could love doing anything so intimate to her. At some point, John didn’t know when, she had stopped crying and trying to fight back and just laid there while he fucked her. He had cursed at her, told her what a ‘dirty whore’ she was and how ‘stupid’ and how she was a ‘fucking idiot for being so nice’. When he had finished, he had told her that if she told anyone, he would go after her younger brother. He didn’t really mean it, he was only 11 and John had been about 20, but it deterred the girl from running her mouth, nonetheless.

He had done the same to a few others, but it never quite fulfilled him like he thought it should have. So he stopped. Better to quit the habit before it becomes an addiction. So he hadn’t raped anyone since he was 25. And he had gone to the army, had a few nights with some of the younger boys and was satisfied. Then he met Sherlock Holmes.

It hadn’t been an instant decision to rape the man, but the moment he met him, the words this one had echoed throughout his mind. When he moved in with him, he finally realized that he wanted to hurt him. Not just punch him or use some maneuver on him he had learned in the army, but really hurt him. Hurt him psychologically. Physically, yes, that would happen as well, but physical wounds heal, given time. Psychological ones, though…

John had come up with a plan. Gain the man’s trust and then rape him. That was the plan. Not very elaborate, he knew, but the simpler the better. Less could go wrong. It was only when he felt it was getting time to act that he had added more details. He would come home drunk for a few nights and make Sherlock think he was having some sort of familial or personal problem. Then, the night of the attack, he would come home, sober, pretend to be drunk, and pounce on the man. He had to be sure to have a knife though. So instead of going to a bar the whole time, he’d run by a weapons shop on the way home. He had made sure to not give any indication of where he had been other than the bar and had hidden the knife behind him in his back in a pocket. His plan had worked flawlessly and now Sherlock was in his bedroom, hopefully going crazy.

John sighed contentedly. He thought to himself that he would have to try it again sometime, though he doubted the detective would let him get close ever again. But he could always use force again.

John shook the thought from his head. He had more important things to worry about, like keeping Sherlock quiet. He figured the man might try to tell Lestrade or Mycroft, but the doctor hoped that his pride would prevent that. He would most likely try to get the information about why John had done what he had. Sherlock would never, could never find out why. The problem wasn’t that Sherlock was unable to find out, it was that John needed him to remain ignorant about why for as long as possible. He couldn’t find out that John had craved hurting him, that he got off to imagining him begging for mercy and sobbing beneath him while he fucked him against his will. It hadn’t been sexual at first. He just wanted to let the man know that John didn’t like what a git he was and to let him know who was really in charge. But once he noticed the unique face Sherlock had, he had become increasingly aroused at the thought of raping the man. And he had done it. He had raped him, fucked him, and hurt him. And now…. now he was content and felt completely satisfied, at least for now.

John got up from his chair, curious about what Sherlock might be doing. He walked quietly down the hall to his bedroom and leaned his ear against the closed door.


End file.
